


Fool Me Twice

by staranon



Category: Funhaus (Video Blogging RPF), Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Angst, Fake AH Crew, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Forced Prostitution, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-07-28 10:47:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16240073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staranon/pseuds/staranon
Summary: Ryan is envious of civs. People who can carry on normal relationships like nothing's going to happen. Like there isn't always an ulterior motive.His line of work is known for two things: a short life expectancy and a widow maker.But this time, he's going to take a chance.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [everyshootingstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyshootingstar/gifts).



> soooo i joined a shiphaus server and everyshootingstart wanted kovwood
> 
> i delivered
> 
> we'll see where this goes lmao

The first time Ryan laid eyes on him, he knew this guy was trouble.

He was Ryan’s neighbour in the apartment complex Ryan lived in under a fake name. This was where he went when he needed to get away from the crew, just a break to pull back, hit his reset button, and return to work with a fresh mind.

They first met when he was moving into the building. When Ryan got to his floor, he saw a pile of boxes outside of 24A, right across from Ryan's 24B. A man stepped out of the open door, face flushed from exertion. He bent to pick up a box, braced it against the door when Ryan decided to step in and help.

His alias here had a good reputation of helping out his neighbours and he couldn't ruin that now. "Here, let me help," he said, picking up another box just as the man turned to look at him.

"Oh! Thanks. I, uh, I just moved in."

"Yeah," Ryan said. "I can tell." He followed the man into the barren apartment. He had no idea this apartment was up for lease. Wasn't Mrs. Forbeck still living here? Or had she finally been accepted to that retirement home? He couldn't remember, so he helped move the boxes in until the man was more settled than he was before. They rejoined at the door.

"Thank you," the man said. "Oh, I should probably introduce myself. I'm Adam. Adam Kovic." He held his hand out, and Ryan did the only proper thing and shook his hand. 

"James," he said. "James King."

Kovic smiled kindly. "Well, I guess I'll see you around, James."

"Yeah. Oh, before I leave just let me know if you ever need any help."

"Of course. Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

Ryan turned back to his apartment and shut the door. In this new situation, he'd have to look into Kovic's personal life, had to make sure he was clean, before he could trust him. Mrs. Forbeck was a retired war widow. She was as clean as they get, but this Kovic presented new challenges and concerns, and Ryan needed to know if it was still safe to live here.

 

* * *

 

He spent the next two days indiscreetly tailing Kovic when he had the time. He had the body of a fighter and the expression of someone who was virtually depressed. He mostly wore dark clothing, usually utilitarian t-shirts and jeans, and Ryan at first thought Kovic might be in a gang. There was a tattoo wrapped around his forearm--although Ryan had yet to get a close look at it. Could be gang related. Could just be for the aesthetic. 

He followed him to the grocery store, followed him through his mundane chores as he settled in, walked the neighbourhood to get a feel for where he now lived. Ryan ran a background check on him.

Kovic, Adam. 28. Born in Michigan. Foster kid. No post-secondary education. Had a job with NCL Sports. Video editor. He had all his papers in order. His story checked out, but Ryan kept up his guard for the first few weeks that Kovic was in the building. He could never be  _too_ careful.

They bumped into each other a while later in the laundry room in the basement of the building. Ryan had his basket and his detergent and his spare change and entered the room only to find Kovic struggling with the coin-operated washing machines. They were fairly antique, but it was better than walking all the way down to the laundromat six blocks down.

After seeing his own clothes in one of the washers, Ryan slid over to Kovic to offer him a hand. "Problem?" he asked.

"Yeah," Kovic said, frowning. "This is just really old school for my tastes."

"Yeah, you get used to the quirks. Here, let me show you." 

Kovic handed over his quarters, and Ryan pressed in close to show him out it all worked, where to slide his quarters in, and just general commentary about being a good person when using the facilities.

"You can leave if you've got other things to do," Ryan said. "But it's generally not acceptable if you just leave your clothing in the dryer until the next day."

"I assumed," Kovic said with the hint of a smile. "Thanks. Otherwise I would've been here all day."

"It's a struggle we all bear so we don't have to go down to the laundromat on Ocean View."

Kovic smiled widely and closed the lid of the washer. Ryan finally took a step back.

"Thanks, neighbour," he said.

Ryan nodded and went to collect his things to go back upstairs until he had to change his laundry over to the dryer. "Any time, neighbour."

When he returned an hour later, he found his clothing already changed over to the dryer along with Kovic's. The man was nowhere to be seen, but it was a nice gesture that Ryan felt he needed to repay. 

If Ryan was home during the day, he'd make sure that any packages being delivered to Kovic would be signed off by him so Kovic wouldn't need to go down to the delivery store. He answered any questions Kovic had. He gave him whatever cooking utensils or spices he needed and hadn't yet had time to pick up. He kept an eye on Kovic because, admittedly, he was starting to become a bit fond of him. He seemed like a well-rounded guy. Kovic even had a tendency to feed the stray cats around their building. It wasn't the best habit, but it was cute. Kovic was--and he hated to admit--was cute.

 

* * *

 

They were just neighbours. Kovic was friendly with everyone on their floor, but with Ryan, he seemed to hold a special affinity for him. At the end of the day, they would catch up at the mailboxes before ascending the two flights of stairs to their floor together. 

"How are you settling in?" Ryan asked.

"As well as could be," he said. "Still getting used to the sounds whenever the heat kicks on, and I'm still getting lost on my way back from the grocery store."

"Yeah, that's one of the pitfalls to living in an old city when all of its roads are based off of horse trails."

Kovic smiled, and Ryan liked it when he did. It made him look softer than his normal gruff, intimidating self. Kovic was just a natural sweetheart. The older couple down the hall had offered him a home cooked meal to welcome him to the building, and Ryan had listened in on the interaction. Kovic was kind and genuine. That was his default, and after weeks of tailing him and looking into him, Ryan found that Kovic was as clean as a whistle. There was nothing out of the ordinary with him. 

Until Ryan came home late one night. After running an errand with Jeremy, Ryan was dead on his feet and looking forward to crashing on the couch with the TV on the background as white noise until he fell asleep.

But as soon as he got onto his floor, he knew his night plans had changed. 

Kovic was at his door, fumbling with his keys, bag of take-out food sitting by his feet. He had his hood pulled up over his head as Ryan ascended the last of the steps, but it did little to hide the edge of his black eye and bruised cheekbone. Kovic swore after failing to get the right key in the lock, and Ryan noticed his hands were shaking. He sounded upset, sniffling quietly as he tried his best to get in his apartment.

“Here,” Ryan said softly. “I can help with that.”

At first, Kovic jolted back in surprise, but calmed once he saw who it was. “Uh, yeah, yeah, thanks. Um.” He quickly pressed his keys into Ryan’s hands, and Ryan steadfastly found the right key and opened the door. He picked up the bag as well, saving Kovic from having to stoop and bend to grab it.

“Lead the way?” Ryan said, offering it as a question so that Kovic could invite him in if he wished.

He did. And that’s how Ryan found himself in Kovic’s apartment for the first time. Neatly kept, nearly Spartan in appearance. Too neat, if Ryan were asked, but he pushed away that suspicion as Kovic had barely been living in the apartment for two months. He still had to settle in. There were boxes stacked neatly against the wall that had yet to be attended to.

Ryan situated himself in the kitchen, set the bag on the counter and began finding where Kovic settled his cups and plates. He heard Kovic shuffling around in the living room. He took a quick look back over his shoulder and just saw Kovic's back as he walked down to the short hall to the bathroom. The water from the tap ran as Ryan served up some food on a plate, filled a glass with chilled water from the fridge, and set it on the counter.

When Kovic returned, he had ditched the sweater, looked as if he splashed his face with some water. In the light of the apartment, Ryan could see it better now, and Kovic looked directly at him as he meekly took a seat before the plate Ryan had set out. He didn't touch the food. 

"You could join me if you want," Kovic said. There was something strange in his tone, like he was trying to speak around a lump in his throat. He was trying to keep it light for Ryan, so Ryan indulged him. 

"Thank you," he said softly before turning back around and serving himself a plate. He set his plate on the counter space next to the sink. He stood across from Kovic and ate neatly. He took a look at the sore spot around Kovic's eye as he picked at his food. 

His right eye was nearly black. Blood had pooled into the socket when the skin had been broken, and it would take a long time for it to heal. The skin around his eye was puffy and had a purple tinge to it. 

They ate in silence. Kovic just picking at his plate, and Ryan growing concerned. This wasn't typical for Kovic, and for a moment Ryan thought that maybe he'd been jumped on his way back from work. 

Kovic then cut the silence with a quiet admission of, "I, um, I broke up with my partner," he said, voice pitched high, sounded anxious and vulnerable. "He wasn’t.” He swallowed hard, hands pressed together. “He wasn’t good.” He looked to Ryan, his right eye looking much more prominent now that the knowledge was out there.

“Does he know you live here?” he asked, because he had half a mind to go down and chase after this person. Kovic was, despite his appearance, a softie. As far as Ryan knew, Kovic was straight laced, soft brown eyes, all muscle but not a mean bone in his body.

Kovic thankfully shook his head. “I moved here because he started giving me weird vibes. Couldn’t live there anymore.”

“And that was the last straw?”

Kovic nodded and sniffed. Ryan stepped back from the counter in search of a tissue box. “Always a bit too quick with his hands, you know?” He looked to Ryan and smiled wryly, but it didn’t last long. His lower lip trembled and he reached for the tissues when Ryan handed them to him.

Ryan sat with him a long time that night. He cleaned up for him, packed away the leftovers, made some tea for the both of them. To get away from the uncomfortable subject of Kovic's relationship, Ryan started asking him about all manner of things.

They talked about Kovic’s job (video editing that was going well), where he went to school (dropped out after two years), where he grew up (small time town, nothing like this), and why he moved here.

“Just thought there’d be other options here,” he said. “And I don’t mind this city. It’s just hard to get a foothold here if you don’t have connections, you know?”

He fell into a relationship not long after he moved here and, well, Ryan knew how that ended. They veered back to the conversation of his relationship, and the tears welled up quickly, and Ryan knew he had to act.

Michael always told him had a type, and it was when big men cried. “You got a thing, man. Not sayin’ it’s bad. You just like to feel needed. You do you. I’m just sayin’ is all.” That’s all Michael ever did-- _just sayin'--_ but Ryan couldn’t get it out of his head, and now he was going back to his apartment to fetch the first aid kit and gingerly dab at the raw skin around Kovic’s eye and see if there were any major cuts.

“Better?” he asked.

Kovic nodded curtly. “Yes, thank you.”

As Ryan fiddled with the first aid kit, Kovic set a hand over his wrist. The touch lingered for a moment before he pulled back abruptly. “Sorry! I, uh, I shouldn’t have done that. Um. It’s, it’s probably too soon for that. I’m just--”

Ryan reciprocated the touch gently. “I don’t mind. I just don’t want you to feel like you’re rushing into anything. Whatever you need of me.” He squeezed Kovic's wrist gently and stroked his thumb over his skin. Kovic sniffled and leaned his head on his other hand. He looked sad, and while Ryan knew that Kovic needed time, all he wanted to do was hold him close and kiss those tears away.

Yeah. Ryan had a type, and Kovic fit it to a tee. He was fucked.

"Thank you," Kovic said with a teary smile, and Ryan kept his hand on him.

"Of course, Adam. Anything you need."

 

* * *

 

It became a habit, and Ryan let himself fall for it. He couldn’t say no to  _Adam._ No longer Kovic. That was far too removed and objective. Adam suited him just fine. 

Ryan kept a close eye on him those following days. He made himself available to Adam, exchanged phone numbers, gave him the invitation to knock on his door whenever he felt like it. Adam was appreciative, but didn't follow through on Ryan's offer until Wednesday evening when Ryan received the text: 'are you free?'

Ryan was his door in no time, knocking politely and waiting to be invited in. He could tell it was a bad day for Adam. His eyes were red and puffy. He was slumped in on himself. He followed Adam into his apartment, closing the door behind him. Adam went to go sit on the couch, silent as ever, and Ryan settled himself into the space.

He made tea. Something hot was always comforting. It was what Geoff would always give Ryan when he was going off on something stupid one of the Lads did. Or whatever mild annoyance got under his skin this time. 

Adam took it gratefully. Ryan sat down on the other side of the couch and let Adam take the time he needed before he felt like speaking.

"He keeps texting me," he said. "Saying how he's sorry and he wants to make it work and--Is it bad that I still remember the good times between us? And that I think we could make it work? It wasn't always that bad. I just . . ." He broke off, took a deep shuddering breath, and curled his hands around the mug.

Ryan felt a bit out of depth here. He'd never been part of a relationship like Adam's before, though he knew of some. Jeremy had shared his experiences of getting into a relationship when he was seventeen. Should've known better, but said it was all too exciting for him in the moment before it turned sour. How your thoughts get turned around in your head because you just want the pain to  _stop_ and usually that meant by getting back together with someone who wasn't good for you. It was a cycle.

"I don't think it's bad," Ryan said. "What you went through was extremely harrowing. And you just want to get back to those good times and you think if you try hard enough, you can change for the better. And you wouldn't be the first person to think that way." Adam raised his eyes up and looked at Ryan, and Ryan's heart  _ached._

He stretched out his hand and let it rest on Adam's knee innocently enough. Adam held his gaze. "But you need to focus on  _you,_ " he added. "You need to focus on what's best for you so you can heal and grow and get into a better place for yourself."

He sniffed and tentatively placed his hands over top of Ryan's. "I don't know if I can do that on my own. I just . . . what if this was all mistake, you know?"

"Did you always feel scared around him? Like one wrong step would set him off?"

Adam huffed. "Well--"

"If you have to think about times when you weren't stepping on eggshells, then you know your answer." He didn't know if he was saying the right things, if he was being too abrupt for a matter like this.

"I just want to stop feeling like this," Adam admitted. His fingers flexed on Ryan's. Ryan turned his hand over so they could tangle their fingers together. 

"And you will. In time."

Adam's shoulders shook, so Ryan leaned over, plucked the mug from his hands to set it aside, and pulled Adam towards him. He ended up underneath Ryan's arm, tucked against his chest, crying quietly for everything that he lost and still wanted to get back. For all the pain he went through only to end up here. He was by no means small, but he felt it in Ryan's arms just then. Small, vulnerable, and something Ryan needed to protect.

They end up half reclined on the couch, Adam sniffling quietly and Ryan shushing him, rubbing his arm, his back, holding him until the grief passed. Adam had no more to say that night, and Ryan didn't think more words were needed.

 

* * *

 

Adam was trouble, and Ryan could tell. There was just something off about him, but the part of Ryan that just wanted to comfort him, make him smile, help him heal completely pushed past any common sense Ryan needed in this matter.

It started with the black eye and Ryan’s weak heart and it turned into weekly dinners, talking to each other for too long in the hall because both of them were too shy to invite the other in and start off something new. 

Would it be too new for Adam? Adam who was just coming out of an abusive relationship. Who was trying to get back on his feet and get back out there. Maybe he should've turned Adam away. Maybe he shouldn't have been as open and inviting, but Ryan had a weakness and Adam was nearly every single one of them. 

His reputation of the Vagabond didn't mean he was cold and heartless all the time. He could be in the right moment with the right motivation. He'd been known to cut people out of his life ruthlessly should they betray him in any way. But living as James King made him soft, let him be as human as he wanted, and that included being charming, being kind, being everything that the Vagabond  _wasn't_  because being kind to his neighbours made him feel less guilt ridden for the crimes he'd committed as the Vagabond.

This was a part of that, but it became less and less of an act and more of who Ryan felt like he wanted to be. A man in a committed relationship whose partner made him feel appreciated and valued. 

He helped Adam get a new number for his phone so he wouldn't have to deal with the aggressive texts of his ex. They exchanged numbers and started texting each other fairly regularly. Small comments about their day that turned into exchanging personal interests. It escalated to Ryan’s apartment, something he  _knew_ he shouldn’t have done, but did anyway because he wanted to invite Adam into this part of his life. Adam was already so open and inviting, and Ryan didn’t want him to think that he couldn’t be trusted. He wanted to reciprocate.

(He technically be trusted because he was living a  _lie_ right now, but Adam needed that lie and Ryan was in too deep to back out now without hurting him.)

He brought him into his home. His alias’s home, really, but his home nonetheless.

He cooked for him.

He let him wander the apartment and look at the books gathered haphazardly around the room.

And then he kissed him when they sat next to each other on the couch.

“Tell me if I’m going too fast,” Ryan said when he pulled back, saw how red Adam’s lips were and how much he wanted to  _consume_ him.

(It was the Vagabond in him. The hunger and want for nearly everything and maybe Adam would be enough on his own, but Ryan knew he wouldn’t be.)

Adam threaded his fingers into Ryan’s hair and shook his head. “You’re all I ever need.”

And Ryan was  _gone._

 

* * *

  

He was at Geoff's penthouse, napping in a convenient sliver of sun when his phone buzzed on the coffee table. He was alerted but couldn't make himself move, far too comfortable to sleep and rest up before the big hit tonight. 

His phone buzzed again. Footsteps on the wood floor. A soft snicker.

"Wow, Ryan. Who've you been chatting up?"

He sat up and saw that Gavin had this phone in his hands. He stretched for it, but Gavin jumped out of the way. " _Oooh,_ " he said in a sing-song tone as he danced away. "An Adam is it? Who's this lovely boy that has our Ryan's attention?"

From the breakfast bar, Michael and Jeremy craned their necks to see what the commotion was about. Gavin tossed them the phone before Ryan could find his footing and get his phone back.

"You fucking this guy?" Michael asked, handing the phone off to Jeremy when Ryan finally intervened and took it back, stuffing it deep into his back pocket.

"That's none of your business," Ryan said before he stalked off to the kitchen to get himself something to drink. The Lads were laughing behind him.

"Oh, he's got you good, man," Jeremy said. "If you're honestly  _this_ secretive about your texts, you might as well propose on the spot."

"Who's proposing to what now?"

Geoff and Jack had the impeccable timing of entering the kitchen and catching Ryan's blushing face. Well, he wouldn't have been able to hide his blossoming relationship for long, but what he didn't want was a lecture about leading some poor sap on and the potential dangers of engaging in a relationship with a civ.

Which was exactly what Geoff did with him a few hours later after the initial excitement had worn off and they were alone. Ever seeing himself as the parental figure of the crew--he had his moments, but sometimes his advice wasn't all that helpful--Geoff clapped his hand down on Ryan's shoulder and said, "I get it. He's probably cute and you want to have some fun, and there's no shame in that!"

Ryan sighed heavily. "Geoff, please--"

"Nuh-huh. I've got things to say. Don't go screwing around with someone's life."

"I know what I'm doing."

"You better." Geoff squeezed a bit harder. A reminder to not be stupid about this. To not--as he would eloquently say--let his dick get in the way. "Because he's a civ and civs don't deserve to get dragged in the middle of a turf war. If it gets bad, you let him down, got it?"

Ryan nodded. "Got it."

"Good. Glad we had this talk, buddy. Now I got a job for you."

Geoff sent him out to meet with one of their contractors. A follow up and things he started hearing from the little birds scattered through the city of a _big name_ moving in. It would be a late night then, and Ryan knew Adam was looking forward to seeing him tonight. So he texted him.

_Late night at the office. Rain check??_

_Of course!! I’ll swing by in the morning. <3_

The stupid emjois and symbols usually made butterflies erupt in his gut. This time it was no different, and the light mood following Ryan to the meet up with the contractor.

He was stationed in the downtown. Not the best area. Gang turnover rates were high in this area, so they needed a tough person to rule this area. They’d found one a few years back and haven’t had problems since. He was leaning against the hood of his car when Ryan approached him, skull mask and all. The man startled when he saw Ryan.

 _“Jesus._ Don’t sneak up on a guy like that.”

Ryan smirked and pulled off the mask. “Feeling jittery, Greene?”

Bruce Greene was a no nonsense guy that Ryan appreciated. They talked. They got caught up on business. They went their separate ways. That was it.

“Hate the mask is all,” he said before ruffling in his pockets for a lighter and a pack of cigarettes.

 _Okay._ Maybe it wasn’t _all_ business. It was just nice to have someone to talk to that didn’t tease him or try to steal something from him.

One smoke. He’d stay for one and get going. Lest the Lads think he was getting cozy with Bruce on the side.

“Been busy?” Ryan asked.

“More than usual,” he said. “Word has it something big is coming in from the east.”

“What kind of big?”

 _“Big._ Don’t have a name yet, but you can’t be too careful.”

“Mm.”

Ryan took a drag on his cigarette and stared out over the marina. His phone buzzed and out of reflex he pulled it out. Message from Adam.

_Miss you._

Accompanied with a photo.

_Adam on his bed, naked, shot from the neck down, and angled towards his hard and weeping cock—_

He was in over his head.

He breathed out deeply and tucked his phone away. Bruce noticed the movement. Ryan cleared his throat. “Work thing,” he said.

“Yeah,” Bruce said, eyeing him hard. “Work thing.” He dropped the dying end of his cigarette and crushed it beneath his boot. He stood up straight, then winced pressing a hand to his side.

Ryan knew that look. It was the look Geoff got when it got damp and cold and his knees suddenly hurt.

“Rough day?”

“When isn’t it rough,” he said. “It’s nothing. Old battle wound. I’m sure you know what that feels like. Anything else you need to know?”

“I know Geoff wants a name,” he said. “You got anything for me? Anything concrete?”

Bruce shrugged. “Wish I could help you, Haywood. I’ll keep you posted.”

It wasn’t the best answer, but it was what could be expected. Ryan could do nothing more.

They parted ways, and Ryan slipped the mask back on before calling Geoff. “Yeah, he’s got nothing, but something’s moving. We’re just not sure what.”

“Thought so. Was just hoping for more.” Geoff sighed on the other end of the line. “Why don’t you pack it in for the night?”

“Sure you don’t need anything more from me?”

“Nah. It’ll just hold you up. Get going, you rascal.”

Once on his motorcycle, Ryan sent a quick text to Adam.

_On my way. Hands off until then._

And then a quick response.

_Why don’t you make me. ;)_

Sent with a video of Adam with a hand wrapped around his cock.

 _Fuck._ He was a goner.

  

* * *

 

He should’ve realized it was bad when he got comfortable like this. He distinctly kept Adam apart from his Vagabond life. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up with this for long. There were only so many stories he could spin about his non-existent job as a tech support for a telecoms company. So Ryan had it in his head. Get Adam to a better position in his life. One where he was more independent, and then let him down gently? Mind you, it was never going to be a seamless. This situation had never been  _good._ Never rock solid and he'd no doubt feel guilty about when it went down, but it would happen eventually. But until that point, Ryan took what he could.

They were like newlyweds. Everything was beautiful and perfect for them in the beginning. Adam was smiling. Ryan would wake up and breakfast would already be made. They started leaving clothing at each other’s places. They never went out. It was too soon for that, and Ryan just wanted to be selfish for a little while longer before he’d have to break this off, leave this apartment. and build up another alias because this realistically couldn’t last.

But  _Adam._

But Adam and his fucking  _mouth_ and the way his eyes would roll when Ryan just touched him so, how he encouraged Ryan to go  _further_ and to go  _harder_ and  _more_ and guiding Ryan’s calloused hands to rest heavily on him.

He'd arch with ease when they were in bed. Curtains closed, one lamp on that cast a healthy amber glow over Adam's skin. Ryan treated him like glass, but he never worried about breaking him. Adam encourage him, got him to go that one step further. 

" _Oh. Oh, there, yeah. Oh my god_."

He made such lovely sounds while on his knees, shoulders pressed into the mattress as Ryan thrust into him from behind. Keeping one hand on Adam's hip, he tangled his fingers in Adam's hair and pulled back, getting him to arch further, to thrust back against him. 

"You feel so good, darling," he said, eventually releasing his hold on Adam's hair and bending to rest his forehead on Adam's back, slowing his thrusts and letting Adam get his breath back. Adam huffed, sounding needing and neglected, so Ryan reached under him and wrapped his hand around his cock, bringing him to a messy and drawn out orgasm.

Ryan pulled out, let Adam slump onto the sheets. He stretched out beside him, admiring the glassy look in Adam's eyes, how blissed out he was. He grunted and rubbed his face against the sheets. "Did you--"

"Don't worry about it," Ryan said, running a hand down Adam's sweaty back. "Was it good for you?"

He grunted again, and Ryan smirked, leaned in to kiss him. "Good."

They cleaned up, refreshed themselves, and got back into bed. Adam's habits at night were practically a ritual. He slept on his stomach, preferred being without clothes, and overheated quickly. And he was nearly dead asleep after they had sex, so really there was no pillow talk. Which was fine with Ryan, he simply liked to look at him and think-- _could he make this work?_

He was intoxicated by him. He liked waking up to Adam already cooking breakfast in his kitchen, wearing his clothes. The shirts were always a bit tight on him, but Ryan appreciated it nonetheless. Adam was always nearly the first person up. A morning person where Ryan liked to languish in bed until noon and stalk the streets until four AM. It worked for them. 

"Are you happy?" Ryan asked.

And Adam would smile that soft smile that made his eyes crinkle. "Yes. I am."

It was as close as they'd ever get to saying 'I love you' without ever saying it.

 

* * *

 

Ryan work from a deep slumber. His mouth was dry, tried to work up some saliva to get the uncomfortable feeling out of his mouth. He stretched out on the, turned his head and saw that the other side of the bed was empty. He ran his hand down the sheets. They still had a semblance of warmth. Where did Adam go?

He stood up, needing to get a drink of water, and called out, "Adam?" He rubbed his eyes, still half asleep, stumbling through the dark of his apartment.

A light in the kitchen turned on. Adam was standing at the fridge. "Hey," he said. "What are you doing up?"

"Thirsty," he croaked and sat down at the table as Adam reached for a glass. "What are you doing up?" 

Adam shrugged. "Couldn't sleep. Needed to stretch my legs." He set the glass down in front of Ryan.

"Something bothering you?"

Adam smiled and set his hands on Ryan's shoulders, kneading into the skin gently. "No. Just fine, love." He bent over and kissed the top of Ryan's head. "Let's go to bed?"

Ryan hummed and guzzled down the water before standing and following Adam back to the bed. 

 

 

* * *

 

Heist night.

Hit the bank. Bust the alarms, break in, get into the vault, take what they could, leave. Bevs on Mount Chilliad. 

It was a sure fire plan, something they'd pulled off in other cities. They knew the plan like the back of their own hand.

And yet when they got there--

"Hang on, the alarms have gone off," Gavin said from the back of their van. "Fucking cops are on their way!"

"What?" Geoff said. "We haven't even busted in yet. What the fuck happened?"

What happened was this:

An unknown crew got the one up and robbed the bank before they could. As it turned out, they had the exact same plans, exact same follow through as the Fakes themselves had. 

Geoff was livid. All that planning gone to waste.

And then again, the FIB were tipped off to one of their warehouses. All those goods confiscated, a bunch of their aliases wasted because someone  _knew._ Someone had the inside scoop, and Geoff wanted to know who it was so he could teach them a lesson.

It took a few weeks. Ryan lied to Adam, said he was going on an extended business trip, would be working away for the time being, and Adam  _bought it_ and Ryan felt no better than the individual who drove Adam to his arms to begin with. And he knew after this that it’d be time to break it off and end it. It had gone on for far too long.

They finally got a lead on a snitch. Ryan was out then, scouting on the other end of town and looking into previous people who’d contracted for them when he got the call.

“We got the rat. And I need you to see this.”

From Geoff’s tone, Ryan knew it wouldn’t be pretty.

And it wasn’t.

They were on the docks when Ryan arrived. Jack briefed him on it, and she was giving him a hard glare. “The Lads roughed him up a bit, but this guy is something else.”

“What’s Geoff want me to do with him?” he asked.

“Just talk,” Jack said.

“That never works.”

“It will this time.”

When he approached the room, he heard the familiar sound of skin meeting skin, pained grunts, and then a malicious laugh like the person found this funny.

Then he saw who it was.

With his wrists bound on a hook above his head, he was forced to stand on his toes to relieve the strain on his shoulders only for his legs to tire before he had to drop back down. His wrists were raw, there were tears in his jeans and shirt that Ryan didn’t know were artistic or just from how they caught him. The Lads had done a number on him, and his shirt must be hiding a horror story. But he spat blood and  _laughed_ like none of this mattered, and Ryan felt his blood chill.

He knew that laugh.

He looked up.

It was Adam. His Adam there on the hook, receiving rough treatment from the Lads to get him to  _talk,_ but it seemed like he was having too much fun.

Oh. Oh, now he knew why Geoff wanted him here and why Jack glared at him like he spat in her drink. Adam was the snitch, and Ryan never picked up on it. He'd slept with the man many times, invited him into a small part of his life, and he never knew. Adam must've walked all over him, and when Geoff started digging, started getting desperate for some answers, looked into parts of the crew's life to find a link. And he did. Pulled Adam from his apartment and brought him here.

“Looks like lover boy finally arrived,” Michael said, shaking his fist out as he went to grab his jacket. “We’ll leave you two lovebirds at it then.” He sneered at Ryan before he left with Jeremy and Gavin following him.

Ryan looked at Adam, and Adam looked back, teeth painted red, a gash at his cheekbone and chin. But there was nothing there of Ryan’s _soft boy._ Perhaps there never was.

He unhooked Adam from the ceiling and let him drop on a chair. He hardly moved as Ryan secured his hands behind his back, behind the chair. When he was fixed in place, Ryan stood before him. He grabbed Adam’s chin and tilted his head up towards the light.

“They did a number on you,” he said, coldly.

Adam only smirked. “You here to finish the job then?”

Ryan dropped his hand and moved to the table. There was an assortment of instruments there, but he knew right then, he wouldn’t be able to do anything, not when he couldn’t  _not_ see his Adam. But he at least had to make it look like it.

“You staged the whole thing,” Ryan said matter-of-factly. “Got close to me so you could spy on me, clone my phone, bug the place.” He was guessing, but that’s probably what happened. He picked up a serrated knife and turned back around. Adam hardly looked phased.

“You were so easy,” Adam said. “You really got a thing for doe eyes, don’t you?” And then like a switch, the act was on. Tears in his eyes, lower lip trembling, voice pitched high like  _his_ Adam’s. Not this actor before him. “You wouldn’t hurt me, right? Ryan, please.”

 _Fuck._ He couldn't hear this. His hand shot out around Adam's neck and squeezed before Adam’s tune changed so suddenly again.

 _“Oh, yeah,_ harder,  _daddy. Please.”_

He let go in a huff and turned around again, Adam coughing and laughing at his reaction.

“You were  _so_ fucking easy to play. They always said you had a thing for soft boys with big eyes. Free over there must’ve been a treat when you first met him.”

At one mention of Gavin, Ryan decided he was done playing. He let the Vagabond rise up and he turned slowly, crouched to get at Adam’s level. “I don’t care what you know or what Geoff needs from you. I’m going to take everything from you starting with your eyes, then your tongue, and I’m going to keep you alive just so all you feel is the  _fear_ of me tearing you apart.”

Adam must know about his reputation. About what he’s done as the Vagabond. Nothing good. Nothing pretty. Nothing Ryan’s proud of.

His smile dropped, and Ryan wondered how many acts he had, which  _version_ of Adam he’d get next.

“They wanted me to get close to you,” he said.

“Who? Give me a name.”

“The Corpirate and his associates.”

 _Ah._ Well, this just turned out to be a whole lot more complicated than before.

Ryan leaned back against the table casually, crossed his arms. Adam seemed more somber now, less teasing and more . . . remorseful.

“You work for them then?”

“If you could call it work,” Adam said. “Did you think my whole abusive partner story was real?”

The black eye, the sob story. Just enough to make Ryan hesitate for just a second. Lose his common sense.

“They roughed you up to make it more believable,” Ryan concluded, and Adam nodded.

“It’s different for each of them, but it’s all the same in the end. I get close with targets, bleed them for information, and then cut and run.”

“You’re a call boy then.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it.”

He sounded bitter about it, and Ryan could imagine how terrible it would be to work for the Corpirate in that way. Always on the front line, always being something else for someone else.

“What do you owe them?” he asked, because that was how he got into this situation, no doubt. Messed with Corpirate, got himself into some sort of debt and then had to work for them until he tried to betray them or got himself killed.

“Does it matter?” Adam asked, sounding bitter about it.

“It does when you work for the Corpirate. You think we’re going to let you go after this?” he said, treating Adam like a little child.

“I’m not a fucking moron,” Adam bit out, brow furrowing. He looked away from Ryan suddenly and seemed to deflate where he sat.

“Liberty City,” he said. “Seven years back now? Was with another crew and we were . . . cocky. Got into something we shouldn’t have and I got caught. I was just a dumb kid then, too scared to know what I was really getting myself into.”

Ryan knew the Corpirate’s long game. He didn’t pay people to work for him. He indentured them, held something over their heads so they’d have no choice but to work for him.

“What did he have on you?”

“He was going to kill my crew in front of me. I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t have that--”

“Why?” Ryan pressed. “What did you do?”

Adam shifted in his seat. He was uncomfortable and Ryan suddenly knew why.

“Were you fucking your crew too?”

Adam looked up darkly. “Oh, and you aren’t? Everyone fucking knows what the Fakes get up to. You don’t exactly make it a secret that your Golden Boy likes to get down on his back and--”

Ryan had enough. His body acted fasted than his mind, and he slapped Adam across the face. His head snapped to the side, and he started to laugh.

“Did I hit a sore spot, darling?” he taunted. “Was he not enough for you? Not broken enough like I am?” Then there was the change in tone again. “I just want to be with you. You make me  _feel_ safe.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

“Did mommy ever tell you to not stick your dick in crazy?”

Ryan had had enough. He couldn’t listen to this any longer, so he did what he does best.

He pulled off his gloves. He pulled off his mask so Adam could get a good look of how disturbingly calm he’d be, and he raised his fist and brought it down hard across Adam’s bruising cheekbone.

It was a hard hit. It sounded wet. Adam’s nose bled. He became starved for breath, but he never begged. He never cried out. He was eerily calm. And when Ryan took a step back to shake out his hand, he noticed something peculiar. There was a glassy look in his eyes. Ryan recognized the far away, slightly stoned look. A common look for anyone used to being interrogated like this. Withdraw enough so you couldn’t feel the pain. Ryan pulled his fist back and swung at him, just short of striking his chin. A slight flinch, but nothing more. He gripped Adam’s chin once more, pulled his head up. He looked a sight.

“Wow,” Ryan said. “They really did a number on you didn’t they?”

He must’ve been used to this sort of treatment. The Corpirate had never been known for being soft towards his assets.

He let Adam’s head drop. His knuckles felt raw, but he could only imagine how poorly Adam felt.

“Will you talk now?” he said and heard Adam spit behind him. Ryan reached for a water bottle and twisted the cap off, pressing the lid to Adam’s lip and tipping it back. Adam sputtered at first, the water sudden and  _cold._ It dripped down his chin, but he got the hang of it, and swallowed gratefully.

Ryan let him sit there and get his breath back.

“He told me to kill my partner,” he said, not bringing his eyes up from where they were fixed to the wall across from him. “Our crew wasn’t . . . wasn’t that big, but I’d gotten close with one guy, and . . . and if I didn’t want  _more_ blood on my hands, I’d have to kill him.”

“Did you?”

Adam didn’t respond at first, looked too lost in his thoughts, so Ryan splashed him with some water. He jolted and shook his head.

“I stabbed him. Didn’t see it coming, but I couldn’t . . .” He swallowed. “Left after. Couldn’t see it through.”

So he  _was_ soft at one point. Just the work of the Corpirate that turned him into this shattered mess.

“Who did you work with?” If they could track down the remnants of Adam’s old crew in Liberty, then maybe they could find something more on the Corpirate. Raid his depots for a change.

“Who did you kill?”

Adam breathed deeply through his nose, closed his eyes. He was probably centering himself, pushing down any emotional part of him to get through this next bit.

(Ryan absently wondered what he would’ve been like if he hadn’t fallen into this pit here. What Adam would be like if he didn’t live such a dangerous life.)

“His name was Bruce,” he said, tone flat and neutral. “We were closer than we should’ve been, so instead of having a dozen people killed in front of me, I chose to kill him. Stabbed him once and left. I couldn’t see it through, so I left him to bleed out.”

Pieces of the puzzle started to come together unwarranted, and something clicked for Ryan suddenly. “Wait? Bruce? Bruce Greene?” He knew all of  _one_ Bruce. The contractor working for Geoff that had a pretty solid track record of not fucking the Fakes over. And from what they knew down the grapevine, he’d been fucked over in Liberty City and had an impressive resume. It couldn’t have been a coincidence.

Adam looked up then. “Wait, you know him?”

“You didn’t see it through, so the bastard survived. He probably came here for a fresh start and ended up with us.”

All Adam could mutter was one heavy, “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh’s a bit of a understatement. What was that about not sticking your dick in crazy? We have a potential time bomb on our hands, and it’s because  _you_ decided to fuck with one of the meanest bastards this side of the Pacific.”

“I was a fucking  _kid_ back then,” Adam argued. “What was I supposed to do?”

Ryan set his hands on his hips. This was getting messier by the second, and it didn’t help that Ryan had fallen for his trick.

They had very few options of where they could go from here.

They couldn’t kill Adam. He’d know too much and was too valuable of a resource.

They couldn’t send him back as an undercover. Corpirate would sniff him out and spit him out.

They could, however, continue this charade of being a  _couple_ to give the Corpirate false leads.

But if Corpirate learned that Bruce was still alive, and that Adam hadn’t seen it through, well, then they were all fucked.

“You didn’t exactly make it easy for us,” Ryan said.

“And you’re not making this easy for me. What do you think’s going to happen to me when he finds out?”

He was looking directly at Ryan, big brown eyes, but he wasn’t acting like the man Ryan had met him as. He looked perfectly accepting of the facts, but he was resigned. Resigned to this fate of his where he’d likely lose everything again.

It couldn’t have been easy for a man like Adam to work in an organization like the Corpirate’s.

Michael was right. He did have a type, and it was for boys like Adam who were in a tough situation. Who needed help from men like Ryan.

He pulled up a chair, balanced a first aid kit on his knee and wet a rag with the water bottle. Adam flinched when Ryan touched him gently this time, but he kept his eyes on Ryan, kept his gaze as Ryan set out to clear away the blood, uncover the larger gashes, clean them with rubbing alcohol before covering them with butterfly bandages.

“You have a lot to answer for,” Ryan said. “Don’t think we’re giving you free rein here.”

“Couldn’t be worse that what Corpirate’s made me do.”

Once his skin was clean except for the bruises, Ryan sat back. He’d have a lot to answer for when it came to Geoff, but they couldn’t let Adam walk out of here on his own. They couldn’t cut him loose.

The crew would tease Ryan. They would heckle Adam, possibly haze him, but they wouldn’t go too far with it.

Ryan went around him and took the handcuffs off. As Adam stretched his shoulders and rubbed his wrists, Ryan seized his hair and yanked his head back. He bent down to whisper in close, “Mess with me like that again and I’m going to make what the Corpirate did to you look like child’s play.”

He released Adam’s head, receiving a chuckle from him as he found his feet and stood up.

“Maybe if I prove myself enough you could take me up on that dinner date you never saw through,” he teased.

“Don’t push it,” Ryan warned, but knowing his track record, that’s exactly what would happen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan finds himself back at square one, and Adam comes clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp. i have an idea for this story. let's see if i can see this one through until the end.

Ryan has a tumultuous past with most people he meets. Nothing is ever clean and nothing is without cost. Even his start with the Fakes was shaky at best. He’s surprised that Geoff kept him around as long as he did. What with all the lone wolf shit he pulled. Going off radar for weeks at a time. Improvising during a heist because he _could._ Because he had something to prove back then.

But eventually his hot blood cooled some, allowed him to think more clearly and listen to those around him. But years of living life on the edge have left him unable to connect in any meaningful way. Make a relationship last without botching it because, well, he’s still the Vagabond at the end of the day.

There’s a car waiting to take Kovic to the penthouse. Ryan takes him out with a firm grip on his arm. Kovic is hissing and grunting in pain as Ryan keeps up a quick pace to get to the car.

_Kovic._

No longer Adam. No longer Ryan’s secret, Ryan’s desire to be better, softer.

That man never existed. Only Kovic remains.

He shoves him none too gently into the back seat of a car. Across the hood of it, Jeremy looks at him contemplatively.

“What?” Ryan barks.

Jeremy shakes his head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” He gets into the car and drives off.

Across the lot a few paces, a motorcycle revs. He sees Michael gearing up getting ready to head out and behind him is Gavin. He has his helmet visor flipped up, staring at Ryan and keeping him fixed to that point until he flips down his visor. As Michael revs off with Gavin clinging on behind him, the spell is broken and Ryan finds he can move once more.

He slumps against the railing of the docks and looks out over the inky black waters. He hears someone approach him and take up a spot beside him. He looks briefly to see Jack. He can’t tell if she’s pitying him or simply feeling bad for him.

“Well,” she says. “Can’t get any worse.”

He huffs. “Maybe, maybe not.”

* * *

 

Adam has heard much about the Fakes. He was prepped on the entire syndicate before he was sent undercover. He knows the order of things. He knows their main exports and imports. He knows how they control the city and how they haven’t been caught. He knows absolutely everything about them, but it still doesn’t prepare him for when he’s taken up to a sprawling penthouse and sat down in front of King Pin Ramsey himself.

Rumor has it, Ramsey has been in the game for years. Grandfathered into it by a woman who picked him up off the streets when he was a teen. But then again, it was still a rumor.

His arms are swathed in tattoos and he’s dressed in a simple band t-shirt and jeans. Completely unassuming and it hardly puts Adam on edge.

He sits primly on the chair before Ramsey’s desk. He’s trying not to focus on the throbbing pain in his face, his torso, his shoulders. They did a number to him, but Adam didn’t get to where he is today without taking a little pain.

“So,” Ramsey says. “You’re Ryan’s little boy toy.”

Adam says nothing, focuses instead on the night scene out the office window.

“But I also hear you’re a fountain of information. Working for the Corpirate since he was set up in Liberty City. That’s quite a few years back. You must be quite useful to him if you’ve made it this long.”

Adam understands. A long life expectancy with the Corpirate isn’t guaranteed. Either by his hand or someone else’s, there was a high employee turnover. Adam didn’t get to where he is without sacrificing some things along the way.

“Tell you what,” Ramsey says. “I’m feeling generous and opportunistic. I’m willing to listen to your story and decide what to do from here. So. Lay it out for me. How’d you get tangled up in all this?”

Adam sighs and supposes he should look at Ramsey at least. He’ll be here for some time.

“It’s a long story,” he says.

“Don’t worry,” Ramsey says. “I’ve got nothing but time.”

* * *

 

Adam takes him back—takes him back seven years when he was nothing but a dumb kid who didn’t know his place in the world. Didn’t know how small he was in the grand scheme of things.

A job went bad. His crew had heard of a warehouse full of goods they could steal and pawn off. But they hadn’t known who’d they be dealing with at first. Adam was to go in first. Scout out the area and report back on what the security was like. Only that he wasn’t expecting to get grabbed and pummeled by three surly men.

He was held for three days—questioned as to who he worked for, what he was doing here, how he heard of this location, etc. And when they finally realized he really was just a dumb kid—a dumb kid with a gun no less—they decided to show him who he was messing with.

The Corpirate was a beast of a man. Bald, dark bushy eyebrows, eyepatch garnered from his military days. He towered over Adam and made him feel so very small and helpless as he held Adam’s chin in one hand.

For a few minutes, the Corpirate merely looked at him. Stared him straight in the eyes and held Adam’s gaze. Adam couldn’t look away.

Then the Corpirate spoke. “Since you decided to steal from me, I’m going to give you a deal. I won’t kill you. I’m going to keep you around because, well, there’s something about you that I’m taking a shine to. And to prove your worth, you’re going to spill a little blood. This gang of yours. How close are you with them?”

Adam’s intake of breath was answer enough.

The Corpirate removed his hand from Adam’s jaw and handed him a knife. “Take this and good to the one you care about most in that little group. And kill them. If you don’t, if you try to double cross me, I will bring all of them here, set them up in front of, and kill them one by one. Then I will leave you knowing you’re responsible for their deaths.”

It was too much for him. But even though his hand shook, he took up the knife and was sent out into the world.

He was tailed. That much he was aware of. They followed him back to his apartment building, where he mounted the steps slowly and rubbery legs and came to his apartment. He fumbled for his keys, scratching it along the lock, but then the door opened and on the other side stood _Bruce._

“Adam,” he whispered, pulling him into the apartment and hugging him close, hugging him tight. “Where have you been? I was worried sick. The others told me you dropped off the map. I looked everywhere for you.”

Adam was young and foolish and he fell in love with the man who hired him. He tells Ramsey this, and this was what the Corpriate punished him for.

The knife was a cold, dead weight in his hand. He bowed his head against Bruce’s shoulder, counting up in his head, thinking—

_This is better. This is better than having it done in front of you. Than having Bruce’s final moments be in total agony._

He didn’t see it coming. Adam plunged the knife into the meet of Bruce’s gut, the sudden pained gasp, the desperate grabbing at Adam’s shirt haunting him for years to come.

“I’m sorry,” Adam murmured. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Bruce.”

He fell with Bruce to the ground. And with Bruce’s gasp of, “Adam,” he knew he couldn’t stay there.

“I can’t. I can’t just—“ He backpedaled fast and scrambled out of the apartment, leaving Bruce on the apartment floor with the knife still buried deep in his gut.

Adam ran. He left a trail of blood along the way. No doubt a neighbour would hear about the commotion, find the body, and call the police. They’d find Adam’s bloody finger prints at the doorways as he scurried out of the building. They were waiting for him in the parking lot.

“White as a sheet,” one of them said. He was grabbed firmly before he could run again. He was shoved into the backseat of the car.

“Don’t know what the big guy sees in him,” the driver said. The man put the car into gear and drove out of the parking lot.

“New recruit. Means we get to have some fun.”

They took him back to that same warehouse he’d left hours before, back to the Corpirate and whatever else waited for him.

The Corpirated looked at the blood on his hands and said, “Work him over. Then get Turney in here to clean him up. I want to see what we’re really working with.”

Working him over meant tying up his arms on either side of him. Working him over meant they’d bind up their hands with boxing wrap and squaring up. Working him over meant tenderizing him and testing his pain tolerance.

The first hit caught him on the side of his mouth. He cut his bottom lip between his teeth. Two more were delivered to his sternum. He could do nothing but take it. Each fist making contact with his body, bruising him and making him bleed. Until he was shaking with so much pain he could hardly stand—wouldn’t be standing if not for the ties on his wrists keeping him outstretched.

This was when the Corpirate came to him to inspect their handy work. He caught Adam with a hand around his neck and pulled him up until he stood straight. Again he looked Adam in the eyes and kept his gaze. Adam felt his eyes well up with tears.

A small, slight woman came up to stand next to him. “Is this him?” she asked.

“It is,” he said. “Clean him up. Shave him down and let’s see what we’re working with.”

He was released from his bindings and pushed to sit in a chair. He hardly had the strength to resist.

The woman returned with a kit which she balanced on her knees as she sat in front of him. “I’m Meg,” she said, popping open the kit and get out the antiseptic wipes. She was gentle with him, wiping and dabbing away the blood until she could see the mess underneath.

“Don’t feel like you need to talk,” she said. “I just hate the quiet.” When she pulled away, he looked down at his hands, at the dried blood, _Bruce’s blood,_ still there staining his skin.

“Hey, tough guy, look at me.”

He hummed and raised his head.

“Don’t get lost in that head of yours. Won’t do either of us any good.” She gave him a sincere smile.

The next few hours were a blur. He was led out of the building and taken to another house in a quiet neighbourhood. Meg led him every step of the way, shoving a clean, folded towel into his hands. “Go take a shower. I’ll try to find you some clothes that fit you.”

He walked stiffly into the bathroom and closed the door. Taking off his clothes was a bit of a struggle. He could hardly lift his arms above his head. The hot water felt good on his body. The blood ran off of him in rivulets, turning the water pink. He scrubbed his skin harshly to remove the rest of it, took Meg’s advice to heart.

_Don’t think. Don’t assume. Keep your mind blank. It’s better this way._

Clean clothes were waiting for him on the tank of the toilet. They fit if a bit loose at the waist of his jeans, but they were fine. A knock at the door drew his attention. He opened it to find Meg there holding a shaving kit.

“Nice and clean now,” she said. “I want to see what’s hiding under all that scruff.”

It was an odd request, but Adam was hardly in a position to protest. He took the kit wordlessly and did what had to be done. He shaved the beard off of his face. He was just starting to grow it out, thought it made him look older, and it did. But clearly this wasn’t the look the Corpirate wanted for him.

When he finally washed off his face, the shaving had revealed all of the stark bruises and painful cuts. He looked a right mess. His right eye was black and swollen. The cut on his lip would take a while to heal. And he was afraid that the cut on his forehead would scar.

He stumbled out of the bathroom and went in search of Meg. The TV was on in the living room, and he found her sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone. She looked up upon his approach.

“You clean up nice,” she said, smiling. “Here, I’ve got some food for you on the table. Water and pain killers.”

He sat down gingerly on the edge of the couch and found some scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon waiting for him. His stomach growled loudly at the smell and he blushed. Meg smirked but didn’t comment. He scarfed down the food quickly and downed the painkillers—as much as he could physically take. He found himself stretched over on the couch, feeling drained and tired.

“Sleep it off, Adam. We’ll talk more later.”

* * *

 

“Turney,” Ramsey says. “Meg Turney.”

“I guess you’ve heard of her too,” Adam says.

“Not many people walk away from someone like the Corpirate,” he says. “We were lucky to find her.”

“So was I,” he says. “If she weren’t there, I wouldn’t have made it.”

* * *

 

“You’ll be working with me,” Meg said. “What we do is less savory but lower maintenance than the others. We’re not muscle.”

Adam was confused at first when Meg started explaining to him what his job here would be like. Meg was tiny. Slim. Her hair was glossy like as a model’s from a magazine. Her nails were impeccable. Adam chewed on his. How could they be alike? How was he not being used for some mundane, drone task?

“In my experience, I work with high end clients. I pretend I’m an art curator. I pretend to be a wedding planner for the high rollers in the penthouses. I get close to them. A touch on the arm here. Pat on the shoulder there. And then you’re privy to all their secrets, how long they’ll be in the city, what their businesses are into, that sort of thing. Just enough information to build a picture of their assets before the Corpirate sends in his fixers.”

“Yeah, but I’m not exactly—“ He gestured to himself and then motioned at her. “I’d be out of place at events like that.”

“That’s not the only way to get secrets,” she said. There was a look on her face that he couldn’t place as either pity or aloofness. “Sometimes he needs a different look. Ones that can pass for the high rollers and others that are more suited to the bars or the streets—something secret.”

He was starting to put it all together. “You mean . . . he’s going to—“

“Not in that way. Not if the situation calls for it. You’ve got a look that’s useful to him. A boy who looks too big for his body, all roughed up and nowhere to go.”

It felt like a kick to the stomach. A harsh reminder of the things he’d done and hadn’t yet mourned over.

He had no place to go. He had nothing.

“We’ll wait another day for the bruises to stop looking like you were jumped and more like you were smacked around a little,” Meg said. “Then we’ll show you to the big guy, and he’ll explain who you’re going after.” The aloofness or pity was gone suddenly replaced by a customer service smile pretending everything was okay.

It wasn’t. It really wasn’t.

Adam felt as if he barely had enough time to catch his breath in the following days, whisked from one place to the next.

Everything went down just as Meg had told him. The Corpirate inspected his bruises and hummed carefully.

“There’s a man I need to get close to,” he said, pulling away from Adam and letting him hunch in on himself. “Gordon Barthes. You’ll go to his apartment, and when he lets you in, you’ll find the time to replace his phone with a clone one we’ll hand you.”

He expected there to be more, but there was none.

“And if you try to run, we’ll find you. If you try to screw me over, we’ll find you. If you try to tell anyone, we will find you, Adam Kovic.”

He nodded tightly and was released.

He had no idea what he was doing or what to expect. The instructions while specific were still quite vague. He was driven near to where Barthes apartment was and told, “Don’t come home until you get it done.”

“Or don’t come home at all.”

The two men—Davey and Jorge—were unhelpful in every matter and probably would like nothing more than to see him fail. But that wasn’t an option here.

_Adam had nothing and he had already sacrificed Bruce to get here._

He had no idea what he was getting himself into. And when he got to the apartment building, he had no idea what he was doing, who he was looking for, or how he should be getting close to the man. He was dead in the water already and they decided to just shove him back under.

He was sitting in the stairwell of the building. Those walking up and down ignored him. He wanted to feel numb, but in the quiet of the stairwell, he was forced to reconcile with his situation and his actions to a magnified degree.

Bruce was dead by his hands.

He was working for a man who’d kill him at a moment’s notice.

He was so very alone and so very hurt.

He remained in the stairwell for two hours. He would stay here all night if he had to—wait until this Barthes man arrived or . . . he didn’t know what would happen if he reached ‘or’ stage.

The sound of smartly dressed shoes tapped along the floor. Someone else coming in late from the office until they stopped near where Adam was sitting, hunched in on himself, bruised and hurt and mourning a man he loved dearly.

“Are you okay? Do you need help? I can call you an ambulance.”

He was startled when the man spoke to him. He looked up and saw the care and concern—genuinely so—in the man’s eyes. “I, uh, I’m-I’m fine,” he stuttered out. “I should get going.” He was about to stand and leave when the man extended his hands.

“You don’t have to leave,” the man said, once more remaining genuine and true. “Here. Why don’t I help you to your apartment?”

Adam froze. He had no explanation for this. “I, I don’t—“

He didn’t even have to explain himself before the man nodded slowly. “Are you running from someone?” he was asked. Did he look like it? Did he look like the scared little boy he felt?

“I can’t go back,” Adam said because that was true. He couldn’t go back. He had no choice.

“Okay,” the man said. “Why don’t you come up with me and you can rest up for a bit? We’ll figure this out together, okay?” He smiled at Adam and offered him a hand to get up.

They mounted the stairs together, going slow for Adam’s sake. “I’m Gordon,” the man said.

“Adam,” he said. Now all he had to do was switch the phones and get out unharmed.

Barthes’s apartment was nice, richly decorated and painted in warm tones. He sat Adam down at the kitchen table and got him a glass of water. Then he asked if there was anyone he could call.

It was beginning to be such a long night for Adam that everything bubbled up to the surface and spilled over the top. He pressed his fingers to his mouth and shook his head. The stress and the grief were overwhelming, and he began to weep.

“Hey, hey, Adam. You’re safe here. You’re okay.”

Gordon came and sat on the edge of a chair, hovering over Adam, brushing his hands over his shoulders. And then eventually his hand swept over Adam’s back, a comforting weight that made Adam cry all the more.

When he calmed, Gordon slid him some painkillers. “Here you go,” he said.

Now numb, Adam took them and swallowed them. Gordon was eyeing him carefully and soon they got to talking. In an odd way, it was comforting. To a complete stranger, he could give his entire life story. How he was forced to give up someone he loved. How he was forced into a situation he never wanted. How he felt there was no way out. He gave no specifics, but it was enough to make him feel absolved.

“There’s always a way out,” Gordon told him.

Adam shook his head and took in a shuddering breath. “There really isn’t. Not for me.”

Gordon was silent for a time before he sat a bit closer. “Why don’t you stay here tonight? Clear your mind. Tomorrow we can figure a way out to get you back on your feet.”

It was a bit more complicated than that, but Adam wasn’t about to pass up on this opportunity.

Gordon helped him settled into the apartment, allowed him to take a shower and use a spare set of clothes.  He even made up the couch for him to sleep on. They reconvened in the living room together, Adam feeling warm and safe and willing to let his defenses down a bit.

“You sure you don’t want to get the police involved?” Gordon was still soft in his assurances, willing to help Adam in any way that he could. Adam thought he should at least be considerate that a man as kind as him would be his first target.

Adam shook his head. “No point. They wouldn’t be able to help me.”

“Still. Your wallet, your ID, credit cards.”

Adam shrugged. “It can be replaced.”

Gordon sighed. “I really think—“

Adam shifted his weight. He had to take the attention off of himself. So instead he decided to focus on Gordon, give him a bit of a smile, show interest in the man who opened up his home. “Enough about me and my problems. I just . . . what do you do for a living?”

Gordon let him change topics. He seemed like he wanted to make Adam happy at the very least. He was an accountant, numbers guy to put it simply. Nothing too exciting. Then he spoke about his trips across the world, how fortunate he felt that he could travel as part of his job.

“You ever been anywhere, Adam?” he asked.

Adam shook his head. He’d never been anywhere and told him as such. “What’s the most outlandish thing you’ve seen on your travels?” he asked. He was starting to like Gordon  more and more.

They talked late into the night, and when Gordon announced he had to be up early the next morning, he departed and left Adam to settle onto the couch. He kept up the pretense and slid under the blankets. The lights were extinguished one by one, and eventually the apartment went quiet.

He waited. He kept his eyes fixed to the ceiling until he felt like Gordon was asleep. Then he set his feet onto the carpeted floor and began the quiet search for Gordon’s phone. It was nowhere in the main apartment. Not in any jacket pocket. It’d have to be in his room then.

He pressed his ear against the bedroom door and tried to listen for any indication that Gordon was awake. He heard nothing. He turned the doorknob, opened it. He made sure to keep light on his feet. Gordon was sound asleep still, out on his stomach, one arm tucked under the pillow. The phone was on the night table on the side of the bed. Adam moved forward. He picked up the phone quietly and set down the clone. Gordon shifted in his sleep, but didn’t wake.

Adam was out in the door a minute later. His heart was racing fast as he bounded down the stairs, clutching Gordon’s phone close to his chest. When he was out on the street, he kept running. He had no thoughts of trying to run, of the fact that he was on his own and he could try to escape. He simply made his way back to the warehouse and back to where the Corpirate was waiting for him.

When he handed him the phone, the Corpirate grinned and looked to his two lackeys—Jorge and Davey. “See? Not so useless after all. And he came back. Good job, kid. There’s plenty more where that came from.”

* * *

 

“So you’d steal things for him,” Ramsey surmises.

“Sometimes. I was more like an informant to him. He didn’t see much value in me for muscle. But he’d thought I’d be good at acting. Get people to trust me. Spill their secrets.”

“What kind of secrets?”

“Anything that could sell. Names and places. Business partners. If product was being shipped in. Whoever he pointed to next, I’d have to go after and debate what the best option was to getting them to trust me.”

“Like what you did with Ryan.”

He nods.

* * *

 

Meg gave him some good pointers in those early days. When he wasn’t moping around the house he lived in with her or keeping himself busy in the warehouse, he was working on getting close to a target.  Sometimes it didn’t require much. He’d get close to them in a night club, dance and make himself approachable if it was a woman. And if it were a man? A man that towered over him. Or a man slight of frame but kind and considerate. Either way, showing his vulnerable side worked for both. Make himself small and coy. A lot of them weren’t even gay or attracted to men, but if they had a kind soul, they were willing to help someone who looked like he was down on his luck.

With each success came more praise from the Corpirate. It brought it him more notoriety. Cases could last from a day to weeks depending on what information Adam was required to pull. Building these fleeting relationships for a limited amount of time dragged on him a bit. It didn’t mean anything. He had to earn their trust and yet maintain an air of mystery around him. Ultimately forgettable.

That was when the depression came back in a tidal wave. It felt like he had no life, no purpose beyond what his targets would see. He spent a lot of time in bed then, trying not to _think_ about why the bed felt too big and why he felt so cold.

_(It was Bruce. It was because he wasn’t there, he who could help stem the tide of Adam’s depressive episodes. Bruce who was a fucking furnace and could stand between Adam and the rest of the world. Who picked him up off the streets and helped him better himself.)_

He just wrapped the blankets tighter around himself and tried to ignore the cold air in the room. Meg was a constant presence for him, but it seemed like this work dragged on her just as much. It was a common trait among everyone that worked for the Corpirate that they remained aloof. They remained uncaring of the lives they destroyed, and such an act certainly made it hard to feel like you weren’t living with a target on your back.

There was only one way to leave the Corpirate’s employment and that was usually in a body bag. No one crossed him. No one left. Perhaps they’d get shuffled into a different criminal organization, but they didn’t leave this life by choice.

At this time, Adam was given his longest and most difficult case. He was to get close with a CEO of a well-renowned shell corporation for some big time criminal syndicates. The man was Lee Carlisle. He was a charismatic man that lived by a strict routine. No one could get close to him, but the Corpirate was sure Adam could.

“We need bank numbers,” he said. “Get the information. Take as much time as you need. You cannot come away empty handed.”

So Adam began the process of getting close to Lee. Lee was known to flirt with both men and women and apparently he had a type. Outgoing, young socialites that were extremely lively. Something completely different from how Adam naturally was.

He started his interactions with Lee gently. They’d bump into each other on Lee’s morning jog route along the boardwalk of the beach, an idyllic scene. Bump into each other, laugh a little, apologize before carrying on. Adam kept this up for a good three weeks before Lee invited him out to coffee afterwards. There, still in their sweaty jogging gear, walked down the streets with their coffees in hand and exchanged pleasantries. It was then that Adam invited him out to an outdoor concert. Lee, while in his thirties and probably wouldn’t be caught in a gathering of mostly twenty-something year olds, agreed.

It started with the concert. It built from there to texts, phone calls, coffee outings, and more. And soon Adam was inviting Lee to his utilitarian apartment supplied by the Corpirate’s funds. So long as Adam got what he needed, he could use whatever he wanted.

It took weeks. Painstaking work in earning Lee’s trust, working his way into Lee’s life until Adam was all he could think about. Until Lee was offering to buy him things, take him out to the richer parts of town, invite him to select parties and gatherings. Adam kept up the act of his alter ego for three months. And finally he was rewarded by being invited over to Lee’s penthouse suite.

Gaining access to the bank account numbers was harder than building up a relationship with Lee. That was private access, and Lee was a very private man. He made sure to never leave any digital device out for the taking. He had a security detail that followed him near religiously. He had two phones. One for work and the other _for work._ The _for work_ phone never parted from his person. He was a tough nut to crack, but Adam was not without his tricks.

He was coy when he wanted to be. He was sweet and endearing. He continuously played up the air of having a secret everyone wanted to know. He thinks a part of him loved Lee. In another world, another life it could’ve worked if they both weren’t so drawn deep into crime.

He spent more nights at Lee’s apartment than his own. He was the perfect little busy body, always keeping up with social media, talking about so-and-so’s party or dinner, always dashing out at a moment’s notice. Lee enjoyed his enthusiasm, always pulled him close by the hips to kiss him lightly.

“You go and have fun,” he’d say. “I’ll see you tonight.”

It wasn’t often that Adam would sleep with a client, but as the years went by, his standards and self-esteem dropped. There was no point in holding back when he knew he’d never live a normal life, so when a client came onto him, he didn’t refuse.

Lee was a _very_ generous lover. It wasn’t hard for Adam to forget all his troubles when they were in bed together. And when this became a regular occurrence, Adam felt as if he could go forward with what he needed to do. Corpirate was putting pressure on him to finish up which meant that whoever was paying him to get this information was stressing him out in turn.

When Lee was deep asleep after sex (he was always quick to fall asleep after an orgasm), Adam crept out slowly of the room. Lee was getting sloppy with what he left open and available to Adam. They’d known each other for months now, and Adam must’ve proved himself to be trustworthy, because his laptop was still out on the kitchen table, not tucked away like how he usually kept it.

Adam sat down before it and opened it up. He’d caught a look at the passwords Lee kept and began to enter them one by one until one worked. He just needed account numbers. That was easy enough. Once he was on, he dug through the files, tracing numbers and names until he found what he needed. Just as he read through them, making note of the accounts, an accusing voice rang out, “You little _bitch._ ”

Lee was standing there only in his briefs, but he stormed over to Adam and slammed the laptop shut. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, voice loud and clear in the quiet of the apartment.

Adam’s mind blanked for a moment. He stammered to come up with an excuse, to play innocent. “I, I just—“

Lee cracked his open hand against Adam’s cheek. It made his head whip to the side.

“Who sent you?” he asked.

“I wasn’t, I’m not—“

“You better lie better, _darling._ ” He grabbed Adam’s chin, fingers digging harshly into the skin. “Who sent you? You’re not smart enough to do this on your own. Now, tell me.”

Adam gave him nothing. If he did, the Corpirate would find out and end him, but he did manage to convince Lee that he saw nothing before he was sent packing. Didn’t even have enough time to put his shoes on.

His cheek stung hotly from the slap. He was still shaking when he returned to the warehouse to explain what happened to the Corpirate. To his surprise, he wasn’t chewed out.

“But you saw the numbers,” the Corpirate said and Adam nodded.

“Saw them. Not sure if I could remember them.” He felt stupid that he didn’t write them down somewhere. Put them on his phone at least, but he didn’t think of that in the moment.

“Well, we should keep you in the warehouse for a while until the heat dies down. I trust you can make yourself useful.”

Adam nodded and he was graciously let go. He wasn’t going to question why he get away with barely a slap on the wrist. But he did and he wasn’t going to question it. So he kept himself busy and quiet, ignoring the barbs the others would throw his way.

“Can’t suck dick, Kovic? Is that why you fucked up such an easy task?”

“You’d think a slut like you would be able to get the information a little bit quicker.”

“Can’t fight. Can’t steal. Can’t fuck. What can you do, Kovic?”

They didn’t make it easy for him, but he persevered—continued to work because it was all he could do.

Then _he_ arrived.

* * *

 

“Come again?” Ramsey sits forward in his chair. He picks up a pen and is poised to write Adam’s response.

Adam rubs his right hand. “Edgar. Never met him before. Never heard of him before until he came to visit.”

Ramsey scrawls down the name and underlines it fiercely. He lifts his head. “And then?”

* * *

 

He was called in to speak with the Corpirate one mid-afternoon. It was about a week after he was chased out of Lee’s life. He was called into one of the back rooms of the warehouse. It was a colder room that was rarely used, and Adam didn’t know why exactly. He’d never interacted with this room before.

He was told to sit down in the only chair there, so he did. There was another man in the room, stood in the darkest corner. He wore a white mask made of rubber to look like a cow's head. It’d be laughable if Adam weren’t so unprepared in this situation.

The Corpirate stepped up to the table that Adam sat in front of. He stood there for a moment, simply towering over Adam and reminding him of his place in the pecking order. Then he spoke: “Place your hands on the table. Flat. Right here.” He tapped a spot on the table gently with his fingers, and Adam did as he was told, setting them about shoulder’s width apart.

“You said you had a look at the account numbers,” he said. “Could you remember them?”

Adam, dumbfounded for a moment, shook his head. “I don’t know if I could. I’m worried I might misplace something.”

The Corpirate nodded. “Okay.” He sniffed and turned his back on the table, walked a few paces away. Then, quick as a bullet, the man from the corner came forward and smashed a hammer down upon Adam’s right hand.

He screamed, lurched forward, and pulled his hands off the table. Pain ricocheted up his arm—up and down, up and down. He cradled his shaking hand to his chest.

“Hands on the table, Kovic,” the Corpirate said without turning, voice in a steady tone.

His ears were stopped up with the rushing and pounding of blood. His breath was coming in and out as stuttered gasps. The man in the mask stood at the side of the table with the hammer in an iron grip.

“Kovic,” the Corpirate repeated. “Hands. Now.”

It was with trepidation and terror that Adam returned his hands to the table top to the exact same position as before. Then the Corpirate finally turned to face him. “The account numbers. What are they?”

“I don’t . . . I don’t _know._ ”

“You do. You saw them. You just need the right motivation to remember them. So what are they? Give me the first five numbers.”

Adam shook his head, felt the gathering of tears in the corners of his eyes. Again, quicker than anything, the man hefted the hammer down upon Adam’s ring finger on his rapidly swelling right hand.

“Keep your hands on the table, Kovic,” the Corpirate reminded him just as he was about to pull his hands back down and cradle them in his lap. Instead, Adam rested his head on the table and focused on trying to breathe through the pain.

“Just five numbers, Kovic,” the unknown man said. He said it in such an unnervingly calm tone that Adam shivered.

“Okay. _Okay okay okay.”_

He shut his eyes and started to breathe in and out evenly. He could hardly think straight from the terror and the pain. He was too afraid of the what-ifs. What if he couldn’t remember the numbers? What if he just started babbling to save his own skin? What if the Corpirate left him alone with this man? Would he live to see the end of the night?

And at some point during this internal discussion with himself, he simply shut everything down. He pushed his emotions aside. He shoved everything of _Adam Kovic_ down inside, locked up tight, because it was getting him nowhere.

It was like a switch went off. The tears stopped. The constriction in his chest eased. He could breathe, and then the numbers came as clear as day in his head. He gave out the first string of digits. He took a moment to collect himself before he recited the next sequence and then corrected himself on the third.

Both other men in the room were quiet for a moment. Then the Corpirate said, “Seems like you got your uses, Kovic.”

A hand on his shoulder guided him to sit up. He opened his eyes and faced the man in the mask. The hammer was set between Adam’s hands, a silent reminder of what could happen.

“Pain is an efficient motivator,” the man said. “I think we can work with this one.”

“Do what you’d like, Edgar. I’ve taken him as far as I can.”

The man—Edgar—hummed. “I don’t think so. Not yet. But we’ll make something out of him.”

He was released after that. In a numb stupor, Adam returned home. Meg’s eyes fixated on his swollen hand as soon as he entered. She jumped to action and dragged him to the hospital.

“What did you do?” she asked. She sounded so concerned and she was probably the only one who would be for Adam’s sake.

“Man named Edgar,” he said as he kept the ice pack pressed to his hand.

Meg’s breath left her in one swoop. “Edgar. You’re sure.”

“Uh-huh.”

She sighed heavily. _“Shit.”_

She covered for him once they got to the hospital. Slammed his hand in the car door, she said. Always a klutz. They saw to him and x-rayed his hand, saw to the damage before doping him up and wrapping his hand and setting his broken finger in a splint. After that, they drove home and picked up take-out on the way before sitting down in front of the TV. She admitted it to him quietly that night.

“I think I’m leaving,” she says.

“Yeah? Where to?”

“I don’t know. Just away from here. I just think it’s time for me. Before it gets bad. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

He didn’t think much of her admission at first. But with Edgar’s increased presence in their lives, Meg was set on edge. She never explained why until one day she left. Her stuff was gone one morning, and she left no trace. The Corpirate wasn’t pleased. He lost a valuable asset and suddenly was without a closer for his high end targets. And in the void came Adam at Edgar’s insistence.

* * *

 

“She always knew something about him,” Ramsey recalls. “She never said why, but she avoided Edgar like the plague when she came out west.”

Adam nods. “It took a while for me to learn why, but I did. Experiencing him first hand was intense.”

“What did he do?”

“What didn’t he do? He cleaned me up, slated me as a bodyguard for high end clients. He trained me, built me up from the ground so I wasn’t picking up all these small targets. He said I had a face that made people trust me automatically. I guess he was right in the end.

* * *

 

Edgar’s singular focus came with a price, however. And that was Adam’s sense of self-worth.

“You’re mine, Kovic,” he whispered one day.

Adam no longer shivered at his voice, but he was still a bit unnerved by this man who never took off his mask.

“And now you’re going to prove it.”

He had a molar of Adam’s removed. Painfully. It was an invisible sign of who Adam crossed in his life. A sign that Edgar saw something in him. It still unsettles him to this day, but when it happened, he felt nothing.

And when he was ready, trained up to handle any client, blend into any situation, the Corpirate came up to him and handed him a plane ticket.

“You’re in luck. You’re heading out to Los Santos. The Fakes are the targets. Get close with one and bleed them for all they’re worth.”

* * *

 

“And now I’m here.” He finishes up his story and feels exhausted in doing so.

“But why us? What does the Corpirate want with us?”

“You guys are our biggest competition out west. We could never get in before without you guys catching wind first. So they wanted this done quietly, see how far I could get before I was found out.”

“And is Edgar coming this way?”

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. But I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Ramsey sits back in his seat and stares at Adam for a long time. “You’ve dragged me into a war I didn’t want.”

He nods.

“But I don’t want your death on my conscience, so here’s how we’ll go about this. You and Ryan will play up the happy couple to keep your bosses happy. That means dinners together in your apartments. That means going out and being seen together in public like you’re two civvies in love. Make your reports. I’ll feed you some things to keep the suspicion off of you. That should give us enough time to prep for something at the very least.”

Ramsey shoos him out of his office with a wave of the hand. When Adam re-enters the main room of the penthouse, he’s surprised to find Ryan there already.

“What did he say?” he asks, none of the sweetness from before like Adam’s used to.

“Keep up appearances.” He sees Ryan’s shoulders fall ever so slightly. Then he stiffens and turns to face Adam.

“Ground rules. You’re only alive because Geoff wants you to be. We’re no longer sleeping together, but if either of us needs to stay at the other’s house, then suffice to say the couch will have to do. Not many people know this, but I took drama as a teenager for my art’s credit in high school. I can act pretty damn well if I have to, so you better not fuck this up.”

“Got it.”

“Good. Then let’s go, _darling._ ”

The ‘darling’ is to rub salt in the wound. It’s to remind Adam that he hurt the Vagabond in a way that not many ever have. He’s lucky he’s still standing if the Vagabond’s reputation is to precede him.

Does it scare him that he’s now double crossing the Corpirate? To a certain extent yes because he knows Edgar will make it worse for him than the Corpirate ever would.

Does it scare him that he has to keep up appearances with Ryan? Yes, because he knows Ryan will never treat him the same way. He’ll never look at Adam like he’s something good and needing protection. He burned that bridge before he even crossed it.

What does truly scare him is the fact that Bruce is alive. A man he hasn’t thought of in years because Adam had no room in himself to keep his memory alive. He’s out there, tangible and alive. Adam could touch him. But he’s not the same kid who took up the knife that night. He very much isn’t.

When they stand in Ryan’s apartment, shucking off shoes and jackets, there’s a distinct air of nervousness between them. Adam’s body is feeling tender, the painkillers working their way out of his system as the night fades away into morning.

“So where do we go from here?” Adam asks, never one for sitting in silence.

Ryan turns his back on him and stalks down the hall. “I’m going to bed.”

The bedroom door closes solidly and leaves Adam to stew in his own wrought misery.

**Author's Note:**

> find me @staranon95 on tumblr


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